Light at the end of the Tunnel pt 3, Origin
by Rosencrantz
Summary: The origin of the character that these stories focus on.


  
"For the want of a shoe, the horse was lost..." Came the muttering from the trashcans as a man rummaged through them, from above, a small boy watched him from a fire escape. In his hand, the boy held a stick of some sort with a piece of cloth tied to it. The boy was an obvious mutant, his skin indistinguishable from the sheer amount of bruises covering him. He was dressed like a normal middle-class child.   
"Hey, mister. What are you doing in the garbage? It's yucky in there."   
The man pulled himself out and looked up at the boy.   
"Why, young lad. You have no idea of what lies within these things, do you?"   
"Flies, crud and what no one else wants" He called down as he began to slowly descend the steps, wincing slightly whenever he placed weight on one leg or banged an arm lightly on the rails.   
"One mans trash is another mans dinner. And why is such a unique boy doing out at this time of night?" The man asked as he took in the appearance of the child.   
"Runnin away."   
"Any reason why?"  
  
"Cause it's hurting to stay. Anyway, I can do it. I'm tough" The boy tried to look as brave as he could.  
  
"Oh dear, not good. So, my trout, it hurts? Any reason why?"  
  
Without a word the boy pointed to his body, in the dim light it was just possible to make out the bruises and marks.  
  
"Ah well, a partner in crime works as well. Child, come with me" With a lopsided grin, the man led the boy away from the building.  
  
"Do you have a name or something?" The boy asked, a minor look of worry on his face.   
"I have a name and it is a fine name, a name among names, you would say."   
"And...?"   
"In due time m'boy, in due time"   
After a bit, they found a small area behind a bookstore, all around the make-shift lean-to, was books, none had covers but were all dog-eared and had apparently been read quite a bit.   
"Ah, the tortoise said to the hare, welcome to my home"   
"You're weird, and I still don't know your name"   
"Do you have one at all, child? You certainly haven't been very forward with it."   
"Maybe I shouldn't tell you. For all you know it's a name that's better than yours. Wouldn't want to hurt your feelings like that"   
The man laughed at the boy. It appeared that he had more mettle to him than he had originally thought.   
"Fine then, my name is Conner. And yours?"   
"Andrew. As good as yours, I would say."   
"Andrew, no, it lacks, shall we say, panache. What we need is something much more interesting, my Captain America to your Bucky"   
"You are not calling me Bucky. And you can't change my name"   
"Well, we shall see" Conner said as he leaned over and pulled out an old bottle filled with water, possibly from a fountain. With a large grin he turned it over and dumped it over Andrew's head, soaking the boy.   
"I hereby christen you Morriden. Wear it in good health."   
Andrew yelped and tried to dry himself off.   
"You are **WEIRD**"   
"My dear boy, I am just lateral to normal perceptions."   
"Where the heck did you get that name anyway?"   
"*sigh* The lack of Arthurian knowledge you posses disturbs me, I combined Morrigan and Mordred"   
"That doesn't sound quite right..."   
"Hush, I am the adult, you are the young impressionable child whom I will mentor and leave as my imprint upon the world"   
"I knew there was a reason that I wasn't supposed to talk to strange adults..."   
"I have no idea what you are implying"   


**********************

  
"You won't take me alive!" The man screamed, years ago he might have been healthy, or at least not in the horrible state he was now.   
A young man watched from the shadows as the older man was dragged away.   
The man had raised the young man, in his own odd way he had become a version of a father. Pity that insanity had stricken him down.   
Morriden sighed as he pulled himself up. The men had given up looking for him much earlier._ All the better_, he surmised. He was not in the mood to deal with anyone.   
Slowly he gathered his few possessions, a book and some clothing and struck out in the direction that pulled him the most.   
Morriden had always relied on feelings and hunches, that was how he had came to encounter Conner, and this was how he would leave.   


************************

  
"You, mutant. Do you need a place to live?"   
Morriden looked up from his sleeping area in a doorway, a makeshift blanket covering his more unique features.   
He looked up into the face of a women wearing an eyepatch. Beside her was a man in a trenchcoat and fedora.   
"Depends, why do you ask?"   
"My name is Callisto and this is Caliban. I am the leader of the Morlocks. A place welcome to people like you."   
Morriden looked up at them, catching a glimpse at Caliban's actual face. Every instinct in him was urging for him to agree and go with these people.   
With a sigh he stood up and looked Callisto in the eye.   
"Lead on, MacDuff"   
  
  


::end::


End file.
